


Hot is the night

by So_DaryaDarya



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Emotions, Fluff, Insomnia, M/M, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:27:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21537328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/So_DaryaDarya/pseuds/So_DaryaDarya
Summary: Paul Landers cannot sleep on a hot night after the Stadium Tour and keeps returning in his thoughts to his fellow guitarist. Browsing Instagram becomes the last drop.
Relationships: Richard Kruspe/Paul Landers
Comments: 8
Kudos: 58





	Hot is the night

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first publication, so I am a bit nervous. This short story has lots of emotions and descriptions, but quite little action. But I hope you'll enjoy it, nonetheless.

Mein Gott, how stifling is the night. Every window is open, but long light white curtains don’t even stir. A man is rolling over and over again in hot sheets, spreading his slender arms and legs as far as possible. Trying to get cooler. Trying to reach something? Someone?

This summer is exceptionally hot. One might think that when you perform onstage amidst fires you get used to heat and lack of oxygen. But, alas, no. It is just impossible to sleep calmly when every breath is a struggle to get some fresh air into the lungs. Lips get dry, closed eyelids gleam red, sheets are soaked with sweat. And these god damn curtains just won’t move.

The man turns on his back again. He presses his hands to his face and sucks in the air. There’s no point trying to fall asleep. He sits up and puts his feet down, and the first touch of floor seams cooling, but it’s just an illusion. The man takes a look at a stylish mechanical watch on his wrist, it’s just 3 am. Wednesday morning. ‘Just like Simon and Garfunkel’, the man chuckles, ‘Wish I robbed a liquor store’.

With a grunt the man stands up and stretches a little, then shakes his heavy head. A glass of cold water that’s what he needs. Slightly swaying he moves to the kitchen. A touch of ceramics brings another wave of coolness, but it fades soon as well. The man approaches the fridge and shiny metal door reflects him: disheveled short brown hair, broad yet rounded shoulders, tattoo on a muscular forearm, soft waistline. ‘With no wrinkles seen, I look quite ok’ Paul Landers thinks to himself with a sad smile.

Suddenly he drops his hand that was reaching the fridge handle, and takes a brisk step to the kitchen sink. Cold water tap turned on to the fullest, tight stream of icy water rushes to the sink, the man puts his head under the stream and sighs with relief. For a brief moment he feels young and blond and careless, but then his temple begins to hurt from the bitter coldness and the man lifts his head, slightly disappointed. He cups his hand and takes a sip of water. It tastes strange. Did it always taste like that?

Paul’s short hair is wet and it feels good. He moves to the balcony, hoping to catch some breeze outside. But this hope is futile. The air doesn’t move and big city is filled with dull low noise despite this hour. ‘Guess I am not the only one struggling to sleep tonight’. The concept of the whole Berlin having insomnia narrows in the train of thoughts to one particular person. ‘Wonder if he sleeps, wonder what time it is in NYC’ This thought makes Paul want to smoke. On the little table there’s a pack of cigarettes, though he doesn’t remember how it ended up there.

The man takes a deep drag and releases a puff of bluish smoke into the night. It doesn’t make him feel better, now it’s even harder to breathe and bad taste in the mouth doesn’t improve the situation. Paul takes a long look at the slowly burning cigarette and rolls it between hard fingertips in a meditative sort of way. ‘How on earth can Richard smoke so much? It’s quite disgusting’ ‘And rather sexy in his case’ a smaller voice adds in his head.

Lost in thoughts Paul keeps standing on the balcony, leaning forward and watching the city, but not really seeing it. It’s just one week or so since their last concert of the tour in Vienne, but it feels like an eternity away. The last flashes of fire, the last bangs of Schneider’s drums, Ollie’s deep bass dies away together with high pitched Flake’s note. Till solemnly turns away from the crowd and marches down from the scene. Paul himself lets the last chord fade away and casts the last glimpse to his fellow guitarist. Richard smiles to him, satisfied and full to the brim with joy, pride and adrenaline. This moment is captured in his memory for years to come, standing still in the tourbillon of time. And the time rushes, oh, it rushes so fast: loud after party, ecstatic fans, fun and alcohol and dance, hasty goodbyes to the bandmates as everyone hurried to much deserved vacation, night after night in the suffocating Berlin apartment all blurred in one. Scheisse, he should have gone to the ocean with Ollie.

Paul comes back to his senses, focuses on the cigarette once again. He presses his fingers tighter and then with a click sends it flying into the night, which slowly turns towards the morning. ‘Old punk’ With a strangely satisfied smile the man turns back to the room. Here everything is still and heat is almost tangible. Smile leaves corners of Paul’s eyes and slowly fades on the lips. Well, he needs to find something to do.

But, Gott im Himmel, it’s too hot for anything. Maybe there’s some ice cream in the fridge? Yes, some chocolate ice cream would be nice. Luckily, there is some and life begins to improve. Paul settles on a broad couch with a basket of ice cream and casually grabs his phone. Pensive mood of this night easily suggests another topic to brood about. They used to go to parties without invitation and stay overnight at friends and random strangers or just simply go out and actually talk to people. That was a time of their lives. And now he has a phone that costs like his old car with internet connection to the whole world and everything but what’s the point? ‘Oh cut it, old grump’

So he sits naked on a couch taking generous spoons of chocolate ice cream from a jar and browsing through his phone. Paul was actually proud about himself being one of smartphone pioneers in the band. Ollie and Flake would rather use old button phones, like Nokia, and seamed to carry their iPhones just because they were presents. The keyboardist out of sheer stubbornness didn’t learn any cool features everyone in 21 century used, and just called and sent messages occasionally. The bassist was quite good with tech, but just seemed totally unamused with all the smartphone fuss, especially social networks. Schneider and Richard, on the other hand, took up to the iPhones quite easily, but mainly thanks to their younger girlfriends. Till was like a naive old man what’s-this-button-doing like, taking weird selfies and playing Crush Candy. And Paul felt quite at ease with his phone instantly, as it suited his active extroverted personality so good.

Now he nonchalantly checks his email, Bundesliga results and weather forecast (no changes to the heat). Then some YouTube (how does it always begin with some serious stuff and ends up with cute kitten videos) and finally instagram. Paul has mixed feelings for Instagram, this vanity fair. He follows nobody, and amazes on thousands of people following him. Nevertheless it’s just impossible to resist the lure to secretly observe other people lives. Moreover, he knows exactly, whom he wants to see: familiar richard_von_rammstein in the search box.

Richard and Joey are smiling at Paul from the most recent post. And what a capture. He is quite taken aback with this sudden picture of his bands mate, he even chocks on the ice cream slightly and now cold feeling is spreading down his chest. Or it isn’t just ice cream? Gott, this black haired bastard! So he sits in his apartment on the verge of death from overheating and he has fun with his ridiculously tattooed friend?! Paul gets angry very fast, he feels his heart bumping and his breathing becomes shallow and fast. Jealousy raises its head very fast too. Like acid it fills his stomach, burning his insides, making him dizzy and gasping for air. Scheisse, it seems like it got even hotter in the room just within seconds. Paul’s nostrils are flaring as he is being torn between two desires: stalk Joey’s profile to look for evidence that they are together or just crash the phone at the wall. ‘Why do you do this to me?’ The man clenches and relaxes his fists, takes a few long breaths and wrath slowly gives place to another feeling: sadness? longing? forgiveness? hope? ‘My old friend, this emotion roller coaster is no good to your heart, you know?’ Slowly he scrolls down to the previous post, and all acid leaves him completely. Warmth fills Paul Landers as he watches Richard Kruspe.

He remembers this picture only too well, taken in the hotel just before their final show in Vienna. They were on the balcony, watching the evening taking up the city. Goodbye rays of the sun colored the St Stephan Cathedral roof in delicate pink, and Richard face looked so young and so soft, that Paul decided to try and capture this moment. He didn’t think his friend would post it online, it was kind of private. Though it gave him an opportunity to gaze at Richard now, so he won’t complain. The picture easily brings back the memory of that evening, the last evening they were truly together.

They were sitting quietly, drinking wine and not even talking much. The evening was really warm, but, unlike today, it was easy to breathe, partially because of the light wind, partially because of the freedom and trust between the men. The tour was almost other, and all the torment was in the past. All uncertainty, and fear, and difficult conversations, and revelations were in the past. At the moment there were just two lifelong friends who finally accepted there was love in their hearts. That evening in Austria they decided they both wanted to nurture and treasure that love and go on with it.

Sitting now alone at his apartment, Paul is staring at the Instagram capture with a sad smile ‘Wait for the honeymoon’ Well, he waits. Richard had to go back to New York right after the tour ended to settle up his affairs there, and to talk to his girlfriend as well. Paul wanted to go with him, of course, but Richard refused mildly, as he wanted to stay focused and keep everything under control. They called each other, of course, and texted like teenagers in love, but huge time difference didn’t help much, and now it’s been more than 24 hours since Paul last heard him. With this heat around he felt like he was living in hell. What if he changed his mind? What if being away from Paul sobered him up and now he will back away from what they told each other, from what they felt? Or just Paul felt?

No, he will not think about it. Paul stands up, puts his phone down, walks fast to the kitchen and puts his head under cold water again. ‘That’s better, Landers. Now calm down and go to bed, bitte schön’

The phone beeps. There’s a message and Paul knows, who it is.

Hi  
How are u?  
Fancy coming to NYC  
Is it hot there?  
Not much, why?  
Packing


End file.
